


Burning

by out_there



Category: West Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-08
Updated: 2010-03-08
Packaged: 2017-10-07 19:31:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/pseuds/out_there
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh reminds you of fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burning

**Author's Note:**

> For the [](http://community.livejournal.com/contrelamontre/profile)[**contrelamontre**](http://community.livejournal.com/contrelamontre/) Fire challenge, written in sixty-five minutes. Vaguely set during S1.

Josh reminds you of fire, crackling and hissing as he devours report after report, scratching down notes as he reads. He looks up when you dump a plate of takeaway Mexican food in front of him. "Have you read this?"

You shake your head. You've been pouring over Lillianfield's memos and press releases, swirling the words around your head, trying to sluice the truth from the hyperbole. "Not yet. Is there anything useful?"

He shakes his head and pushes the bound stacks away from him. "Nothing. Nothing we didn't already know."

"Ah," you say, shovelling food into your mouth, swallowing quickly and reaching for a drink.

He stabs at his food, and his eyes smoulder when he looks at you. "We're screwed."

"We're not-" you start, and then stop to swallow your mouthful of food.

"We're screwed, Sam." He sighs, picking at his plate and then reaching over to switch on the game. The rest of the meal passes in silence, both of you watching the game intensely. You pretend that you're not trying to think of a last-minute solution; at this stage, someone else would have already thought of it.

Your empty plate stares back at you, and you lean forward on the couch, clearing the coffee table. "Finished?"

"Yeah." Josh passes you his plate, but doesn't look away from the screen.

You take it through to the kitchen and throw out the disposable containers. Water runs down the sink as you wash the cutlery, and when you're finished, you stare at it for a moment. There are a lot of cliches about things going down the drain, about water slipping through your fingers. The sight of rushing water and stainless steel feels like a perfect image for your current mood.

You turn the taps off before you get too melancholy and head back to the television. Sitting back down on the couch, you notice a smear of sauce across Josh's cheek and wipe it off without thinking about it.

His skin is hot under your fingertips, but it's nothing compared to the fiery grin he gives you. He pulls you towards him, and his body is a furnace beneath yours, burning through your clothes. The sudden heat melts your objections away, and you press against him eagerly. His mouth is warm and insistent, spicy from the Mexican food, and the stubble on his chin scrapes against you, making your lips smart.

It's like a forest fire, fierce and wild, the two of you struggling on the couch; trying to consume each other while his body grinds against yours. Your clothes fall open easily and his hands leave scorching trails across your skin, making you writhe, and burn, and need. You pull him closer, but he pushes you back, shimmying down your body. His mouth on you feels like a brand, searing and intense, marking you as his. You arch and groan against him, trying to thrust deeper, until his fervent tongue makes you spark and explode.

Resting your head against the back of the couch, you sit there, gasping for air. When he curls up beside you, you wrap an arm around his shoulders but don't have the breath to tell him it'll be okay.

His breath flickers against your neck like firelight, and the warmth against your side makes you think of family gatherings, of warm blazes in the hearth. You twist your neck to watch him, to say something, but he stops you by pressing warm fingers against your lips.

Josh doesn't say anything, just shakes his head. He reaches for the remote, and turns the sound up until it drowns out the thoughts in your head. You're secretly relieved. You really didn't know what to say.


End file.
